


Searching for Severus

by Taido



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, M/M, Past Character Death, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taido/pseuds/Taido
Summary: This series continues from the moment Severus Snape was bitten by Nagini, at the end of the seventh book, The Deathly Hallows. Snape was rescued by a mysterious and unexpected ally, and as Harry found out the truth about Snape, he sets off in search of him in hopes of reconciliation with his potions professor, and instead finds between them something perhaps more profound.





	1. The Shrieking Shack

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> Since I have just finished a Harry Potter binge on Audible, my mind is filled with Severus Snape and a grief almost incomprehensible to many at the moment. I went searching for more of Severus, and was sometimes comforted by the words of his shippers, but it simply just wasn't enough. You see my mind is filled with him... so I've set out to etch his silhouette in these pages, and hope that you find him here as well.

It wasn't like any of those old stories, where it began with once upon a time and ended with happily ever after. It was one cruel mishap after another, his life crushed by the enormity of his longing to see those brilliant laughing green eyes again, to hear her voice mirthful and warm with acceptance... She was the one he'd give his life to protect, and yet was he not left with nothing but a substitute, a poor imitation with the guise of emerald eyes? A stupid boy who reminded him constantly of James Potter, his tormenter and ultimately, the man he lost Lily to those painful years ago. He had to make him understand, and he had to make Harry potter see what had driven him to this point, to saying yes to Dumbledore, to coming to his aid again and again, to lie to the Death Lord, to lying here... on the floor, rasping in his last breaths. To say that he wanted him to know was an understatement, it was more like a retort, actually. As the tears formed within his eyes silvery and sticky, he knew he was not angry with Potter, but he needed those eyes to see, he needed those eyes to know the truth.

And so it seems he had met his end with Nagini, the gashes in his neck spurt lifeblood seeming ceaselessly onto robes which had become wet and sticky with the dark substance. A drape most heavy fell upon his inner stage and his eyes became heavy inside his heart, and he allowed himself to sink into the abyss.

What awaited him when he opened his eyes had startled him, and he almost lurched forward out of his seat with the momentum of the swing he sat upon. He was seated upon the swing that young Lily had sat in when he first made his presence known to her. His feet met gravel as the low-set swing came to a grinding halt. The autumn leaves strewn about the playground set the scene as Snape stared, wondering if it weren't a replay of his memories of Lily, perhaps like a movie reel those Muggles say happened before they die. It made him uneasy, to be back in this place again as his older self, as if he was afraid he'd disturb the memory. What if Lily saw him here? What if she and Petunia ran at the sight of him? Would he have not made her acquaintance; would they not have become friends? There was a mounting dread within him, building and building… insensible and ridiculous, even as he knew that this moment had passed, that it was but a childhood memory, the fact that he felt trapped here made him grimace in pain. He looked at the empty swing beside him, a feeling of loss and grief slowly crept towards him… until suddenly he realized someone else was here, walking towards him, a figure long and thin... with a lengthy white beard and a soft, gentle expression upon his face. Albus Dumbledore was striding towards him, a good-natured smile upon his face, "Why Severus, there you are old friend...!"

"Dumbledore...? " Severus frowned as he raised his head towards the old man, "If you are here, then, am I correct to assume that this is some recess of my mind, or some dying part of that mind?"

"How morbid, Severus!" Dumbledore said with a feign of being affronted, "have you not the slightest expectation of a friendly face in a less ominous circumstance?"

"Spare me your optimism, Dumbledore. I have been bitten. And I know a deathblow when I see one." Snape sneered, eyes upon the gravel beneath his feet.

"Ah, Snape... you assumed a great many things, things about Potter that were proved wrong, did it not?" Dumbledore smiled slowly and strode towards the swing beside Snape. Then he made a funny little wiggling movement to back into the swing seat and wrapped both his slender long arms around the chains as he made to sit down, "The boy proved braver and cleverer than either of us. Certainly he is a better man than I, Severus... for I had been tempted by power where he hadn't, and even now he is preparing to face the Dark Lord alone."

Snape grimaced at this, "I set him upon this task, Dumbledore! We did. How could you have asked this of me? How could you allow Potter to be sacrificed like this? What had we all been protecting him for all these years? You have made a fool of me, making me spy for you, lie for you! And then, to make me tell him the very truth that will get him killed!"

"Now Severus," the frail man beside him held up a thin hand, "things might not go as terribly as you think it will…"

"I know that Potter boy!" snapped Snape angrily, "he is most stubbornly and frustratingly NOBLE, like his mother! He would probably march right up to the Dark Lord and just hand his life to him on a silver platter! He would be dead before he could utter another word."

Dumbledore actually chuckled beside him. This only infuriated Snape further, causing him to stand from his perch upon the swing and start pacing in the playground making light grinding sounds beneath his feet upon the gravel. Dumbledore looked up at the worrying figure pacing before him, "Please, Severus... there is nothing more you can do for him here, that you have not already done before he saw your vision...rather, I am here to discuss with you on another matter."

"What now, Dumbledore?" drawled Snape in a voice dripping with sarcasm and disgust, "what would you have me do now in DEATH that I could not perform when I was alive, then? Now that I have lost both Lily and the Potter boy, you think you could get me to do much worst perhaps!?" His voice was growing ever more high-pitched and trembling, filled with anger... more with himself than anyone else.

"Well..." Dumbledore nodded his head slowly as if to agree that he had indeed asked quite a bit much from Snape, "how would you feel about... coming back to life, perhaps?" His eyes were slightly apprehensive as he pushed his sliding half-moon spectacles back up upon his face.

Snape looked up from his frantic pacing, throwing his hands up in the air as if exasperated. What does it matter now? It seems to him that whether he lived or died mattered not, since all of it was in the clutches of the man sitting before him. Dumbledore, he realized, was in control of everything since the very beginning. He had known how things would happen, and how to set events in motion so each met the end that he desired.

"You see..." Dumbledore begin hesitantly, "I had known for some time that Lord Voldemort would come after my wand the moment he realized I had the Elder wand." He watched an alarmed Snape who was trying to grasp the situation, "Yes, one of the deathly hollows, the Elder wand was a wand of enormous power rumored to pass from wizard to wizard after the previous owner was killed by the next. I knew that, once Lord Voldemort is convinced he had the Elder wand, that he would do all in his power to try and maximize the wand's enchantment."

The words barely had time to register with Snape when Dumbledore continued, "that is why he tried to kill you with Nagini, because you killed me with your wand. Now, he could not risk having the Avada Kedavra curse rebound from the wand that might be unwilling to kill its owner. That's why he used the snake… and for a mortal wound made by a beast, we all know there is one antidote..."

Snape interrupted him, "...but the Phoenix had gone! He went away when you'd gone..." his voice trailed off…

"Fawkes can apparate in and out of the most unexpected places, Severus. And I asked him to go to you, if one day Voldemort were to summon you in the presence of Nagini." He placed those words carefully, one in front of the other, and left a bit of silence for them to sink in. "I could only hope, Severus, that you will forgive me for the things that I've done… That I've made you do. Forgive this old man, will you?" And with those last few words the frail tall figure had begun to fade, as if he had said all he needed.

Snape was struck with a sudden desire to grab the man and shake him, yell at him. He lunged forward to grasp Dumbledore's arm upon the swing, but only succeeded in making copious amounts of tinkling sounds and further distorting the fading image of Dumbledore like wisps of smoke that drifted off in puffs of white. Snape was getting so angry that he could punch someone, but instead he was now feeling himself getting weaker and weaker. His arms felt heavy and draped like chains beside him as he sunk towards the ground, at last feeling the darkness approaching him from all sides.

Pain crept towards him slowly, and much more unfriendlier than the way it had receded before, climbing upon his chest and onto his throat like clawed hands gripping his windpipe. He felt a heaviness on his chest and warmth dripping on his wounds that first seared but later soothed the pain upon his throat. He wanted to open his eyes but they were glued shut. His hands found their way to his face, the remnants of his sticky silvery memories trapping his long lashes beneath. He rubbed his eyes, more forcefully this time, and opened them again to the world.


	2. In Dreams We Wake

It was a damned struggle just to breath. He could feel his throat constrict, and the skin around his neck still tightening with pain as he healed. He tried to take in a gulp of air, and could feel the air escape narrowly in wheezes from his windpipe that sounded as if a broken flute was playing. He sputtered and choked and felt a heavy weight shift off of him as he turned onto his hands and knees, crawling on the wooden floor, his whole body trembling with the effort. He felt wetness drip down his right arm, making the floor beneath his palm slippery and sticky. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he could see faint green flashes coming from the window some 5 feet beside him. It must be from the fighting still? How long had he been out? He made to crawl towards it, every effort like daggers stabbing his shoulder blades and knees. He hardly made any progress, however, when he felt a shadow looming from the side of his vision. He made to grasp at the wand that he expected to be within his robes, but combined with the swiftness of the shadow and his lightheadedness, every movement felt prolonged as if in slow motion and he hardly raised his hand when a blow connected with the side of his head, and everything went dark.

Ahh... the darkness. So blissful, to be wrapped in its embrace, where even pain was some distance away, ebbing like embers from a dying fire. And he could feel the warmth from that fire, enveloping him, caressing him as he lay. He could be alone like this, for any length of time really, he was used to the solitude. He couldn't help but feel a sense of relief, even, at having completed the task Dumbledore had entrusted him. Had he not feared, even as the Dark Lord questioned him, that he would not make it before his death to tell Potter about the last Horcrux? How relieved he'd been to see Harry appear suddenly from beneath the invisibility cloak! There was a little voice inside that blamed Potter for simply /watching/, however... but he knew there was no way Potter could have known his intentions before he gave his confession. The boy had always been awful at occlumency, something that had always been difficult for men without the aptitude for lying and well... the fact that Potter had always been a little thickheaded and stubborn did not help. So how could he have guessed the plan that Dumbledore set out for him? The old man was most unpredictable at the best of times, and with the enormity of the secret he'd withheld it was a wonder that he was able to inform the boy in time! He had been so relieved that he made it that he realized he'd probably been a bit too enthusiastic in delivering his thoughts. There were a few too many in there, he knew.

The memories that he'd always removed carefully into a pensieve, just moments before occlumency lessons with Potter... He was glad that Potter stopped coming to see him for these lessons, for him did not want to share these memories at all. They were precious to him, these memories of Lily, of the auburn haired beauty with startling and /knowing/ green eyes and an understanding, most gentle soul. So what if she was Muggle born? She was the only one who saw him for who and what he was, as more than his name, more than his blood. Before he met her he was convinced that he belonged in the darkness, alone. And after she became a Potter, well… there was nowhere else to go but back into the darkness again, alone... so he sought company with whom he assumed were his comrades, and his lord master. It took betrayal from the Dark Lord himself to make him see just how wrong he was. Lily, gone...! The thought wrenched a part of his soul from him. It drove him mad, the thought that he'd been the one that was to blame! Every day since was an atonement, an impossible task... he was lost, aimless and pitiful. He allowed himself to become a vessel, a willing soldier of the war for Dumbledore because he had to cling to the last vestige of her, because he needed to keep whatever was left of her memory alive.

It'd taken Dumbledore a while to convince Severus that Harry needed him, that the boy was every bit her son as he was James', and that he bore more resemblance to his mother than his father. He wasn't quite convinced of that the first time he met Harry. Sure, he had his mother's eyes... but the resemblance stopped there, it seemed. That arrogance, that stubbornness, and such pride! Those were the exact traits that made him hate Harry's father. He had none of the subtleties that Lily possessed, and he also had a particularly dense head that couldn't even appreciate his sarcasm. It wasn't until his occlumency lessons that Severus realized that the boy had lived a marginalize life just as he did. How exactly did Harry live through all of it without becoming bitter and resentful? He had marvelled at this, and he saw the kindness he gave freely to others, just like Lily did. The boy stood up for others who could not defend themselves, even if it was foolish and beyond his power to do so. It was a trait that Dumbledore had prized, had been so elated with that he kept repeating it to him over and over. At the thought of it, Severus wanted to roll his eyes now in his mind if he could.

He now allowed his mind to drift a little back to clearer consciousness, before he slowly began to focus on his whereabouts. He is a skilled dark wizard, and did not betray his consciousness with any change in his breathing or posture. He lay as if asleep upon a narrow bed with sheets that smelled clean but distinctive with a faint waft of healing potions. He was probably in some sort of hospital or infirmary at the moment... the worst possible place. He could hear voices a little distance away, of what sounded like a male and a female whispering.

"...how is he? Do you think he'd wake up anytime soon?" a worried male voice spoke. Severus supposed he was probably wanted for questioning by someone from the Order of the Phoenix, no doubt.

"It's hard to say at this point," the female voice said matter-of-factly, "we have never treated anyone who had been incompletely healed by phoenix tears... It's possible that he struggled violently while it happened, causing the wounds at his throat to be partially healed. Of course, this could mean that the snake venom had not completely gone out of his system. But he's lucky that Smethwyck found an antidote the last time someone was bitten by the same snake, an Arthur Weasley, if I remember correctly? Now with the potions we've given him, he is on the mend, I'm sure. We'll just have to wait a few more days." With that, the woman turned to leave the room.

He heard a rustling of robes as the man approached the bed, and he cursed inside his head that there was probably little chance his own wand was on him. There was a shifting in the sheets as the man sat down beside him on the bed, a little closer than Severus would have anticipated. Perhaps he would be able to wrench a wand from the man, or simply wait until he'd gone before he made his escape.

Then he felt warm hands upon his own. The sheer surprise at the act almost made him flinch. He was barely able to relax his right hand and make it flaccid as if unresponsive, when the voice spoke again, "Please, Snape. Wake up? I know what you did… you shouldn't have had to face him alone." It was... Potter's voice. He felt the hands around his squeeze tight, then release again gently as Harry rose, straightening to pause above him, and then turn slowly to leave the room, closing the door gently behind him as he went.

How long he laid there, as if stupefied, he did not know. So Harry had seen the memories... ugh. He had not expected to live long enough to have to face this. After sufficient time had passed, he slowly opened his eyes to his surroundings to find that he was in an isolated room that was probably at St Mungo's. His robes were folded neatly in a chair beside the bed. With great effort, he crawled out of the bed and managed to pull his long robes over his shoulder, not having the strength to change out of his hospital gown underneath. Groping inside his robes, he was relieved to find his wand tucked inside an inner pocket. He wasted no time... with the last ounce of his strength he pulled himself up to full height and turned on the spot, disapparating from the place at once.


End file.
